


Missing and Presumed Dead

by NealsNeen



Category: White Collar, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Hurt Neal Caffrey, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapped, Kidnapping, Missing, Presumed Dead, Shooting, Whump, concerned Peter, shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25468618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NealsNeen/pseuds/NealsNeen
Summary: The title says it. :)This fills my Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt.I am now on Instagram: whitecollarfiction - follow me :)
Relationships: Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	1. Missing

Three days. Three agonizingly long days since Neal went missing during an undercover operation. Peter could hear over the com that Neal had been made. He was going to pull an art heist with a notorious group of thieves, known for their violent approach.

A new member had joined the group a couple of days before the caper and it had been, to Neal’s disadvantage, someone he and Peter had caught and put behind bars a couple of years ago. They had not been informed that he had been released recently and were certainly unaware that this convict was getting back in the game immediately. He recognized Neal instantly and ratted him out to the others during a group-meeting to discuss the upcoming theft.

“So, you are the infamous Neal Caffrey, FBI pet and snitch. I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you. This whole heist is blown because of you and your Fed friends. You shouldn’t have gotten involved. Everything you have learned about us, you will take with you to your grave.” Peter could hear the boss of the gang address Neal. 

The group was meeting in a warehouse outside of town and the surveillance van was parked just a few streets away. 

“We have to get him out of there, NOW!” Peter shouted at his agents and jumped out of the vehicle at the same time, gun drawn. 

He stopped short in shock as he heard a gunshot over his earpiece and in the distance.

“Get rid of the body. We may have to lay low for a while.” The boss said. 

“Shit, this can’t be happening.” He could hear Diana swearing next to him as they doubled their speed in getting to the warehouse. 

_He had to be alive, he_ _**had** _ _to be!_ He could not imagine losing his friend. Not like this.

Peter, Diana, Jones and a handful of agents rushed through the front gates and entered the large space within.

There was no sign of the gang or Neal.  _How could they have been so fast?_

In the middle of the room appeared to be a dark puddle.  _Blood. Neal’s blood._

“Damn it! They’re gone, Peter. I’m so sorry. We could not have seen this coming. Whatever they are going to do with Neal’s body, I doubt that we will find him.” Jones sounded breathless. Shocked. While trying to maintain a professional stance.

Peter stood bent over, his hands on his knees, trying desperately to not freak out and to control his breathing. “He can’t be dead. He can’t be.” He muttered. “Turn every stone, look everywhere. I want to know what happened.” He said and his agents got to work immediately, scanning the place for prints and taking samples of the blood. 

Peter just stood there. Still shocked and dazed. Gone. So fast. He didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye, to tell Neal how much he mattered to him, El and the whole team.


	2. Taken

The head of the gang was furious. The whole heist had needed meticulous perapartion. For weeks they had been planning out the sting. And now they had a snitch in their group, working for the FBI.

He didn’t know how much the agents already knew. Probably enough to bring down the gang eventually. But he was surely going to find out. 

The man he got to know as Nick Halden was standing in front of him in his fancy suit, staring at him wide-eyed. Surprised and scared, knowing that there was no way out of this for him now. No more lies or sweet-talking.

He was certain that the FBI was probably listening in right now. He needed them to think that Neal was dead so he could take the man with him for a painful interrogation. 

He pointed his gun at Neal, who raised his hands defensively but he didn’t give the man a chance to utter a word but fired immediately, aiming for his shoulder instead of anything vital. 

The impact threw Neal off-balance, he staggered back a few steps, clutching his right shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. He drew in a gasped breath, looking up at the boss in horror, he swayed in placed before his eyes closed and he fell backwards against the goon standing behind him, who caught him and wrapped his arms around Neal’s torso and laid him on the floor on his injured side, Neal’s temple touching the floor and his hand lying limply with an upturned palm in front of his face, while a pool of blood was forming underneath him.

The boss laid a finger on his lips to indicate for everyone to be quiet. He crouched down in front of Neal and checked his pockets for anything suspicious which could pose as a listening-device. The only obvious thing Neal was wearing was a pen, so he took it and handed it over to one of his men, whispering in his ear to take it far away and destroy it, never to be found again. 

After that, he turned towards the man who had caught Neal and said: 

“Wrap his suit-jacket around the wound and get him to the car, quickly.” 

The goon hoisted Neal up into a sitting position, yanking his jacket off him and tied it around the young man’s shoulder, then scooped him up into his arms, Neal’s head falling backwards over the thief’s arm, his limbs dangling bonelessly while they made their way to their get-away car. 

They sat him in the backseat, Neal’s limp body tipping sideways against the door and window, his head falling down onto hist chest and his thick wavy hair falling over his forehead. He looked pale and flushed at the same time. 

They drove for a while until they came to the river on the outskirts of the city.

They unwrapped Neal’s jacket from his shoulder and discarded it at the shore.

_Let’s hope the FBI falls for this for a while, presuming we disposed of the con’s body in the river_ . The boss thought, while the hole in Neal’s shoulder continued to bleed.


	3. Presumed Dead

“Peter, they found Neal’s jacket.” Jones said as he entered the bullpen, where Peter was working frantically on any leads they could get on the gang. 

“What? Where”?

“A passerby found it by the river. He said he wouldn’t have thought anything of it, had it not been soaked with blood.” 

“God, damn it. Gimme a minute, guys.” Peter said, while covering his eyes with his hand.

Everyone left the room and he sat down in one of the chairs, tears threatening to spill over. He had sent Neal into this operation, fully aware of the possible danger he put him into. And now the unthinkable had happened. He knew how many fellow criminals this gang had killed in the past, making short shrift. The list was long, the evidence obvious but never enough to put names to faces and make any arrests. 

Peter pulled out his phone.

“Hey, hun.” El’s happy voice greeted him.

“Hun…” 

“Peter? What is it?”

“Neal… he was shot and is missing. He was probably thrown in the river and .. he’s gone, El. I just can’t… he’s my friend. Our friend. And now I have to get a diving company to search for him at the bottom of the Hudson.” His voice was trembling. 

He could hear El gasping. Stunned silence for a few seconds. “Oh my god, Peter. Let’s… let’s not assume the worst, just yet. Please. If you’re good at anything, it’s to find him.” 

“I know, hun. But… you don’t know this group of violent criminals. They stop at nothing.” 

“Peter, I know you will search high and low, but please, come home and get some rest when you can. And if you need anything, let me know.” 

“I will hun, I’ll keep you updated.” 

It had been three days since that call.

The diving company didn’t find anything and they didn’t have a lead on the gang. It’s like they had vanished from the face of the earth. 

Peter was inconsolable and felt utterly defeated. He hadn’t cried yet and felt like it was time to accept that the worst had happened.


	4. Still Here

Neal slowly came to. He coughed weekly and tried to open his eyes. His whole body felt leaden and weak.  _That bastard shot me!_

His shoulder burned agonizingly, making his head spin and he winced as he pried his eyes open. He was lying on his side on a cot in a room with a small window above him and a door at the end of the bed. Déjà vu, he thought. More like a cell than a room. 

Someone had bandaged his shoulder over his shirt, but he could see blood seeping through and he feared that the bullet was still inside. He was hot and cold at the same time, his hair damp and his shirt clinging to his skin.  _Not good._

He rolled onto his back, staring sluggishly up at the ceiling. He remembered the boss shooting him without even blinking.  _This should’ve been my last breath, why am I alive?_

He tried to get his facts together. He was off anklet, his jacket and the pen were gone so it was unlikely that Peter would find him any time soon. He had been made, they shot him but kept him alive and brought him here. There is only one reason they’d do that. Information. They would probably want to know how much about them had been leaked to the FBI. And they would presumably skin him alive to get what they needed.  _Even worse._

He had to get out of here. Fast.

He didn’t feel in any condition to even walk but the thought of torture had him sitting up gingerly, making his head spin. They had probably searched him for lock-picks but since he was still wearing his shoes, he doubted that they had found the ones inside. 

Before he could get up, the door opened and a man with a water bottle entered. He threw it at Neal and it landed in his lap.

“How long was I out? What do you want?” Neal asked, not able to hide the fear in his voice.

“You’ve been in and out for the past days. Boss says to keep you hydrated before we start. That wound is already infected and will be the death of you, if you don’t talk. Now that you’re awake, I’ll come back in an hour for an audience with by boss.” And with that, he locked the door behind him, leaving Neal trembling and barely able to sit upright anymore. 

Not trying to panic, Neal slid down the mattress onto all fours and made his way to the door slowly. He leaned against the wall for support, panting. Grabbing the lock-picks from his shoe, he got to work and had the door open in a shorter amount of time than he anticipated given his condition. The effort had left him sweating and even more dizzy, but he really, really needed to get away. 

He used the wall as leverage to pull himself up and peered around the corner. He was in some sort of office building which was under renovation, there were tarps and paint buckets in the hall outside his room which must have been a storage place. 

He closed the door behind him and prayed that none of the gang members would appear now. 

He staggered down the hall towards the sign indicating a staircase, he swayed from left to right, needing both sides for support as he bee-lined for the exit. 

He made it down the stairs and pushed the fire exit door open as he heard yelling above him. “He escaped! He can’t have gotten far!” Hurried steps were heading towards him.

Neal braced the door as the adrenaline spike made his vision go black for a frightening second, the pain in his shoulder flaring and he let out a small shriek, pulling himself together to push the door open fully and stepped through. 

He almost stumbled over his own feet, but managed to catch himself and looked around. He knew where he was! It was a more quiet area of New York and night had fallen so there was no one on the streets.

He needed to get to a more busy area so he started running, as fast as his condition would allow him, panic sweeping over him and the newfound adrenaline spurring his steps. 

He could hear the exit opening behind him but he didn’t slow down.

“There he is! Run, get him!” 

Neal cursed and darted around the next corner. If he made it down two more streets, he’d be safe.

He didn’t know from which source he drew the strength to run like the devil. But he was certain it came from a place within his heart, where all his loved ones resided. June, Mozzie, Peter, El. He had to see them again. Let them know he was okay. And when this was all over, he could frankly use some being fussed over. 

He ran around the last corner and let out a sigh of relief. The street was crowded, there were bars and shops and  _people_ . 

His phone had been discarded along with his jacket so he would have to ask someone to borrow theirs. He hurriedly stepped through the crowd, blending in, not once looking back. Most people weren’t taking note of him, but some stared at his battered frame, hair disheveled, shirt torn and bloodied, pale face and swaying as he walked. 

Before he could muster the courage to ask someone for help, the adrenaline subsided and he felt as dizzy as he had before. Not sure what he was doing there all of a sudden. He leaned against a wall for a brief second to get his bearings, his legs almost giving out. He wrapped his arms around his upper body, feeling cold all of a sudden, shivering _. Peter. Have to get to Peter._

His legs carried him automatically in his daze.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside a familiar brownstone, ascending the steps slowly and agonizingly. The pain in his shoulder was at an unbearable level. Without unfolding his arms from his chest, he lifted a hand to knock weakly. 


	5. Alive

Peter and El were sitting at the dinner table, picking their food but neither of them felt compelled to enjoy the meal. They looked worn and tired and utterly sad.

El reached across the table and took her husband’s hand.

“We will get through this, hun. He was my friend, too.” A tear was rolling down her cheek. 

She felt at loss for words to console her husband who had lost so much more than a CI or a colleague. Neal and Peter were truly best friends and she would surely miss their banter, the laughs in this house, the game of trust and just… Neal’s face, his loyalty and warm heart. 

Satchmo was lying on the rug beside the dinner table and suddenly, his ears perked up and he wagged his tail. 

“What is it, Satch. Someone at the door at this hour?” Peter asked. 

At that moment, a faint knock could be heard. Peter got up and cautiously approached the door, opening it an inch to find himself face to face with Neal. 

“Neal!” 

“Oh my god, we thought… we thought… are you alright?”

“Pt’r.” Neal’s arms fell away from his chest and he collapsed forward into Peter’s arms. 

Peter caught him, before he hit the floor and lifted him up into his arms, while El waited in the living room, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“Oh my god, I’m calling an ambulance.” 

Peter layed his CI on the couch, Neal’s head rolling to the side, his lips parted, completely unconscious. 

Peter knelt beside him, totally in disbelief that he had his friend back. Alive. In bad shape but breathing. Only Caffrey. Missing, presumed dead and magically re-appearing.

They would have a long conversation. 


End file.
